


Fall

by Saber_Wing



Series: The Ties That Bind [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Depression, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Suicide, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: "Did you see this happen, Cole?” Maxwell demanded. For all that he'd paled, face white as a sheet, his voice was steady. “Did you ‘help?’”“He was hurting. Now he isn’t.” Cole turned those mournful eyes on Maxwell. “He wanted to disappear. Like you used to.”The Inquisitor went rigid.A young nobleman jumps to his death on Skyhold grounds. Maxwell and company are unprepared to fight the demons that result.
Series: The Ties That Bind [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1254914
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags yet, please do so before you go further. There are some strong and potentially triggering themes ahead.
> 
> That aside, this one in particular, while not a reflection of actual real life events, has drawn much from personal experience. Anyone with similar experience will see what I mean.
> 
> As always, enjoy the ride <3

Skyhold was a marvel. Wilhelm Trevelyan, first son of House Trevelyan, was glad he’d come.

The birth of his infant daughter had thrown those plans up in the air. But his father had been under the weather of late, and with the Inquisition holding a fete, on a fast track to victory against Corypheus, he could hardly allow their house to go unrepresented. The Inquisitor needed their support.

If Will was able to mend a few more slats on the bridge he’d been building between himself and Maxwell while he was here, all the better.

“…the dinner was ruined _._ Bartrand wouldn’t speak to me for weeks,” Maxwell’s dwarven companion—the author, Varric Tethras—said, helping himself to a mug of ale.

Wilhelm snorted. “I know all about disastrous birthday dinners sabotaged by a younger sibling, I’m afraid.”

Maxwell scoffed. “Oh, please. You were miserable. We all were. I was just the one with the stones to admit it.”

Tobias hid a smile. “You _admitted_ it in front of the Lord and Lady of Starkhaven, as I recall. Mother was livid.”

“I suppose you second and third sons have to get up to something, else you’d die in obscurity,” Wilhelm drawled. He winced scarcely more than a moment after the words left his mouth.

_Lovely. Great job. Poke the bear with a firestick, why don’t you?_

“Most of us die of boredom _,”_ Maxwell quipped, his tone dry.

“Damn right,” Varric concurred, laughing. He exchanged an underhanded high-five with Max, who met Wilhelm’s eyes. With a smile.

Oh. He wasn’t angry. Of course, he wasn’t.

Wilhelm scowled inwardly, annoyed with himself. When had he become so concerned about provoking Maxwell? He’d done it for sport as a child. Found fresh ways to annoy him every _day._ For _fun._ Now the two of them barely managed to tiptoe around one other, crunching painstakingly through the shards of broken glass they’d hurled over the years, like daggers.

Maxwell leaned his chin on his hand, grinning lopsidedly. “Even father thought that was funny. That cough towards the end of his speech was a _laugh._ I heard it.”

“Sadly, I'm an only child, although all this talk of rabble-rousing _is_ making me a bit home sick,” Dorian of House Pavus said, from a few places down. Rather a lot of talk about the Inquisition’s resident Tevinter of late, even back in Ostwick. “Ah, to be young again.”

Wilhelm let the mindless conversations wash over him. Participated in a few, he was sure. Not that he’d be able to repeat a single one, if pressed. He’d been born and bred for this from the moment he could crawl. He could talk in his _sleep,_ and frequently did if his wife’s good-natured griping was any indication.

All in all, he managed to make it through the rest of the luncheon without any more slips of the tongue. Talk between Maxwell and he was pleasant—if a bit stilted. He walked away feeling not emboldened, however, but frustrated.

Tobias caught up with him a foot from the stairs. “You did well.”

Wilhelm scoffed. “I am not a _child,_ Tobias. I don’t need you patronizing me.”

“I mean it.” He gripped his shoulder briefly as the two of them kept pace with each other, his manner knowing. “You’re overthinking this. Give it time. No wound heals in a day.”

“I should be able to have one blighted conversation with the bastard without sticking my foot in my mouth,” Wilhelm groused. “At least _you_ had a foundation to build on. You actually liked each other. I spent most of my teenaged years quietly sabotaging every halfway-civil overture.”

“...by pinning his smallclothes to flagpoles,” Tobias deadpanned, with a raised eyebrow.

“That was _one_ time!”

“Convincing him to lick that lamppost one winter.”

Wilhelm had the decency to wince. “I didn’t think he’d actually _do_ it.”

“He was five.” Tobias’ reply was somber this time. “He worshipped the ground you walked on.”

Wilhelm huffed.

“And lest we forget,” Tobias’s tone grew progressively more frigid. “The time you challenged him to a sword fight and nearly—”

Wilhelm’s blood turned to ice. He jerked a hand up, halting Tobias wordlessly.

“That was…” Tobias shut his eyes. Visibly reigned himself in. “…unworthy. I apologize.”

“No, it wasn’t _._ Don’t coddle me, _”_ Wilhelm spat. “I know what I did. One inch down and I’d have cut his _throat._ You think I don’t know that?”

“I know.” Tobias pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

The two men were silent for a time, neither speaking. Both recalibrating. Tobias was the first to regain his bearings. “He doesn’t hold that incident against you if it’s any consolation. He was a willing participant. He let you goad him into it.”

“That’s not the point.” Wilhelm crossed his arms.

Tobias laughed. “That’s what I said, too.”

Wilhelm huffed.

Tobias took him by both shoulders. “You’re trying. That means something.”

Will snorted. “We’ll see.”

As they walked, a commotion reached Wilhelm’s ears—the sparring grounds were within sight, a crowd of people standing around the training dummies. It was quickly clear that whatever they were watching wasn’t cause for merriment. They weren’t watching a fight.

They were clustered around a body.

A young man lay in a crumpled heap, blood spreading in a pool on the ground, sinking into the dirt, and staining it a muddy brown. The closer they came, the more pungent the smell—thick, metallic, and unmistakable.

Tobias pushed ahead of Wilhelm and worked his way through the crowd, not that he had to push _much._ Most onlookers noticed the Captain of the Guard approaching, his face a storm cloud, and got _right_ out of his way.

Wilhelm followed, more slowly. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the body. Couldn’t pull his eyes away.

As he came closer, he could see that however this man had died, it hadn’t been in any natural way. He lay partially on his side, his neck bent at an awkward angle. His skull was caved in, crushed where it hit the ground.

Wilhelm covered his mouth with his hand, swallowing bile. “Maker preserve us.”

By now, the commotion appeared to have spread, and quickly. More onlookers gathered, from the ground to the ramparts. All with varying expressions of shock and disgust. Gasps, in the background. Someone retching, in the distance.

Tobias, pale-faced, knelt beside the corpse. Then, he gazed upward. Up, and up, at the ramparts high above. _Directly_ above the crumpled body.

The implication was clear.

Commander Cullen, followed closely by Lady Josephine and the Inquisitor himself, were soon to arrive. A woman sat crumpled along the wall, weeping.

“H-He just… _jumped!_ ” she wailed, nearly unintelligibly. “We c-couldn’t stop him, he just…h-he…”

The Inquisitor’s face shuttered.

Tobias was watching Maxwell with a level of intensity that was perhaps a fraction too intent to be normal. Maxwell avoided his eyes, taking in the scene with all the grim, placid calm a leader of his stature was expected to maintain.

There was something off about his demeanor. Will couldn’t quite place what. Judging from the unsettled look Tobias was giving him, his younger brother concurred.

Whoever this young man was, he’d been important. His clothes were fine. His complexion, fair. Tobias lifted an amulet from his neck with a finger, where it had fallen from his tunic. Wilhelm recognized the crest, even from where he stood.

“One of the Reinhardts,” he murmured, his lips, numb. A large clan, as he recalled. He looked young. Couldn’t have been much older than eighteen.

Tobias was giving Wilhelm a look, warning him off with his eyes, but from _what?_ What precisely was he _not_ supposed to do here? He was left more confused than ever, glancing between Tobias, Maxwell, and the body with befuddlement.

He was missing something important, and he couldn’t connect the dots.

Another young man stood at Maxwell’s shoulder. His hair was blond and scraggly, wide-brimmed hat hanging over his eyes. Skin pale enough to be gray. And, he was visibly distressed, staring at the body with mournful eyes.

“Did you see this happen, Cole?” Maxwell demanded. For all that he'd paled, face white as a sheet, his voice was steady. “Did you ‘ _help_?’”

“He was hurting. Now he isn’t.” Cole turned those mournful eyes on Maxwell. “He wanted to disappear. Like you used to.”

The Inquisitor went rigid.

Cole was speaking, staring at Maxwell as if he could gaze right through him. _“An heir and a spare, they should have stopped there.”_

Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut for the barest hint of a second. “Cole.”

_“Should have jumped. No one would care.”_

“Cole!”

The members of the Inquisition’s inner circle who were close enough to hear looked deeply disquieted, observing Maxwell with varying levels of comprehension.

“I wasn’t supposed to say that. It didn’t help.” Cole wrung his hands. “I’m sorry.”

The Inquisitor did not acknowledge Cole again. He continued as if he hadn’t heard, his face a pleasant façade of courtliness. “Josephine, are we in contact with the Reinhardts? They’ll need to be told.”

“I shall make inquiries,” she replied. She ignored the rising tension, practiced diplomat that she was. “We must handle this delicately.”

“Cullen, scatter the onlookers if you’d be so kind. The poor sod doesn’t need an audience.”

The Commander’s expression was sober. “Your will, Inquisitor.”

Maxwell nodded, a bit distractedly. Then he strode calmly away from the crowd, placid as you please.

His lover, The Iron Bull exchanged a loaded glance with Tobias. They seemed to come to a silent understanding, and the qunari followed the Inquisitor without a word.

Something was _very_ wrong here.

“Now, wait just one Maker damned _minute,”_ Wilhelm began, moving to go after Maxwell. “What—"

Tobias held him back. “Let him go.”

“Why?” Wilhelm allowed his brother to pull him aside, speaking in a furious whisper. “What the hell are you not telling me?”

“It’s not mine to tell.” Tobias grasped his shoulder. “Just…don’t push him. Not on this. Please.”

Wilhelm scoffed. “For Maker’s _sake,_ you’re acting as if he’s the one who—”

Realization hit like a lightning strike.

A young noble from a large family, unlikely to inherit. Maxwell's odd behavior. _‘An heir and a spare. They should have stopped there.’_

“No.” Wilhelm gazed off into the middle distance, eyes focused on nothing. He shook his head, incredulous. “He _wouldn’t_.”

Tobias said nothing.

“That’s…preposterous.” Wilhelm stared.

“Is it?” Tobias cut him off, gently.

_‘Should have jumped. No one would care.’_

“You’re not…” Wilhelm’s breath faltered, his words faint. “…saying…what I think you are.”

Should have _jumped?_

Maker have mercy.

“Don’t ask.” Tobias hardened his gaze. “You know I can’t tell you.”

“Well.” Wilhelm forced himself to sit on the topmost stair down toward the gates, resting his head on his hand. “ _Shit.”_

Tobias nodded his agreement. “Shit.”

* * *

For a man as readily available as Maxwell had to be, he was remarkably good at _avoiding_ people.

It had now been several days since what Wilhelm had come to refer to as ‘the incident.’ Every time he saw his younger brother, it was at some blasted official function, and he _always_ managed to slip away before he could blink. He hadn’t been allowed the chance to question him about what had occurred in the courtyard.

When and if Wilhelm did find him, did he genuinely want the answers?

Wilhelm had resented his brother, until very recently. They’d spoken at length, the last time they’d met—when Maxwell and Tobias had been back home at the manor, and the former damn near _died_ in an assassination attempt. They were far from being fast friends, but it had been a start. Wilhelm was tired of fighting him. It was past time to bury the hatchet.

Will thought Maxwell had it all, growing up. He’d gotten away with _murder._ Challenged their parents at every turn. Every bit as willful as their father and then some, and they’d clashed more as he grew. While Wilhelm was busy learning the names of every noble house in the Free Marches, Maxwell was skipping diplomatic functions to practice archery _,_ and getting _away_ with it.

Oh, sure, he was punished. He’d be confined to his quarters for days at a time. Given extra duties around the keep. But he was calling the shots. And it seemed to Wilhelm that he was the only one who knew it.

Any plan for Maxwell’s life they suggested that he didn’t like immediately got scrapped, because _he_ willed it. Become a Chantry Brother? Maxwell? Hardly.

He’d lived a life of privilege with none of the responsibility. Done whatever he’d pleased. Or so it had seemed. It was only recently Wilhelm had begun to realize the grass may not have been greener on the other side. He knew that from Maxwell’s end, that story was vastly different.

But suicide? To have contemplated _killing_ himself?

It couldn’t be true. He didn’t want to believe it.

As it happened, the Inquisition managed to contact a member of the Reinhardt family, who happened to have been only a day or two’s travel away, before Will was able to corner Max. He stumbled upon it quite by accident. He could easily hear the commotion echoing from the undercroft up the stairs in the great hall. Followed the voices down, despite his better judgement.

The door was ajar when he reached it. He started to push it open. A guard on the inside of the door attempted to shoo him back out, but Tobias noticed him first, waving the guard off after a moment’s hesitation.

He crept inside, shutting the door behind him.

The first son of House Reinhardt stood at the head of the group. They’d met a few times, at a function or two. He hadn’t liked him, then. There had always been something in his eyes Wilhelm found disquieting.

“I do apologize for all of the trouble, My Lord Inquisitor. Alphonse always had an air for the dramatic. Such an unseemly display, for all the _world_ to see. How very appalling.”

“No need to apologize,” Maxwell returned, that _awful,_ frigid sheet of ice he donned so well wrapped around him, like a shroud. “It is a terrible tragedy. I only wish there was anything further we could do to ease your grief.”

Adelbert Reinhardt sniffed, flicking his eyes to the body behind them with disdain. Some kind soul had thought to drape a sheet over the poor bastard, but it was clear what they were all gathered for. What lie beneath.

“He’s always been a miserable sod if you’ll pardon my language. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Something about Adelbert’s demeanor was intolerable to Will. It wasn’t that he seemed put out, or disgusted—oh, no. There was simply _nothing_ there. That thin veneer of civilized courtliness, and little more. The self-same unaffected, dead-eyed expression Wilhelm often saw staring back at him in his looking glass, day after day. No unseemly emotion to speak of. No shred of remorse or decency for his own _damned_ blood. Wilhelm could see himself in Adelbert. Had seen dozens of young nobles just like him, at his home court and abroad.

He imagined his baby daughter lying on that slab. Imagined Maxwell, young and desperate. So convinced of his insignificance, he could break his own _neck._

He imagined them both and wanted to be sick.

“How can you _say_ that?” Wilhelm spat, venomous. The words exploded from his lips so quickly, they may as well have belonged to somebody else. He had just as little power to stop his _own_ words now as anyone did. “Are you completely mad?”

The young lord in question sneered at Will, curling his lip. “I don’t see how it’s any business of yours _.”_

Maxwell, Tobias, and Lady Josephine were present. All watching him, with wary eyes.

“He was your brother.” Wilhelm shook his head. His voice raw, angry. “He _killed_ himself. Doesn’t that mean _anything_ to you?”

“Best thing he’s ever done for our family. Not that I would expect you to understand.” Adelbert gestured over at Max with a tilt of his head. “We can’t all be thick as thieves.”

“Is _that_ what you see?” Wilhelm laughed, harshly. “He didn’t spring from our mother’s womb Andraste’s chosen, you know. We were anything but close. I couldn’t _stand_ the little pissant!”

Maxwell’s expression was carefully blank as he watched, the picture of serenity. Tobias, on the other hand, was visibly on edge. “Wilhelm.” His tone was sharp, with an edge of warning.

“I couldn’t _stand_ him _,_ but I would never have—" He thrust a hand at the young noble’s cadaver, laid out before them, like a macabre sideshow. “I would never.”

Both of his brothers were watching intently as Wilhelm felt himself spin further out of control. Even the noble seemed taken aback.

“He was a drain on our resources.”

“A _drain_ on—” Wilhelm sputtered. His face felt so hot now, it had to have been flushed _._ “He was your _family._ Third son or seventeenth _,_ it doesn’t—"

“ _Fifth_ son,” Adelbert replied, stiff, as if that were the thing that mattered. “He was the fifth.”

“Whatever!” Wilhelm stormed up to him. Shoved a finger in his face. “My father would have seen himself _dead_ before forsaking one of us this way! You should be ashamed!”

“And House Trevelyan is so very different?” He laughed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Wilhelm clenched his fist. Before he could do something he’d live to regret, someone grabbed his arm. Tobias, no doubt, ever the mediator.

It wasn’t the brother he expected. Maxwell stood beside him instead, Tobias a pace or two behind.

“We had best take our leave.” Josephine knew precisely when to intervene, addressing the young noble and inclining her head. Her unruffled demeanor was nothing short of miraculous. She passed her eyes over the three brothers quickly, with a look that said they’d speak of this later. “I’d be happy to show you to your rooms.”

“Many thanks, Lady Montilyet.” The noble looked Wilhelm up and down with scorn. “It is good to see one among you has some sense of decorum.”

Wilhelm jerked away from Maxwell the instant they were gone. He avoided both his brothers’ gazes, pacing back and forth in front of them.

Tobias and Maxwell had their heads together, their brows furrowed. Tobias whispered something to Max. Kissed the side of his head before making his way toward the door. He brushed Will’s shoulder as he passed.

After a moment, he and Maxwell were alone.

“We’ve already received word from one of his other siblings.” Maxwell walked up to stand beside him, after a long silence. “They’re making sure he’s taken care of. A little too late, but somebody cared about him.”

“I would never have wanted this. I _didn’t_ want this,” Wilhelm choked, staring straight ahead at the wall. He could feel Maxwell’s eyes on the side of his head, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet them. Couldn’t bear to see what he’d find.

He wasn’t talking about the cadaver, and they both knew it.

“I believe you,” Maxwell murmured. So softly, he almost missed it. He could see the words he didn’t say. The pain in his eyes.

“Why would he do this?” Wilhelm barely finished the sentence, the words quieter by the syllable. “To _himself?”_

“He was sick,” Max replied, just as softly. “You become…convinced, I suppose. That people would be better off.”

Any doubt Will still had evaporated. His blood ran cold.

“Just tell me one thing.” Wilhelm clenched his jaw. Swallowed hard. “Do I need to worry about collecting a corpse?”

A pause. So thick, he could have cut it with a blade.

“No. Not like this.” Maxwell's tone was flat. “It was a long time ago.”

Wilhelm bit his tongue. He shouldn’t ask.

He _had_ to.

“Do you still…struggle?”

Another pause. So long, he thought Maxwell wouldn’t answer.

“Yes.” Quiet, hard enough to be brittle.

Wilhelm shut his eyes, pained.

“Someone would have helped him,” he choked. _We would have helped you._

Max sighed. Slowly, carefully, he placed a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed, lightly. “It doesn’t always work that way.”

He did not shake Maxwell’s hand off. And Max didn’t move it.

“I’m okay, Will.”

Wilhelm laughed, harshly.

“You’ll…tell someone. If you’re not.”

“I always do.” Maxwell gave his shoulder another squeeze. Turned to walk away.

Wilhelm grabbed his arm as he passed. “I would have cared.” They stood with their backs to each other, neither willing to pull away.

“I know that,” Maxwell murmured, back still turned.

Wilhelm barked out a laugh. “Do you?”

He didn’t know what to say as Maxwell tugged his arm from his grip. Didn’t know what he’d find as he turned to meet him. He found his brother's eyes, swimming. A smile that quivered, as his voice broke.

“I do now.”

By the Maker _,_ Will had so many reasons to scorn Maxwell as a child. So many reasons to _hate._

For the life of him, gazing at the body on the table and the tears in his eyes, he couldn't think of a single blighted one.

* * *

When the time had come for Wilhelm to depart, he was genuinely sorry to go.

They hadn’t spoken at length about Maxwell’s plight. His younger brother did not offer specifics, and Will didn’t ask for them. But things seemed easier between them after that. They understood each other now. A little better than before. He’d even been invited to a game of Wicked Grace between Max and his compatriots, that Will had been drunk enough to admit he’d enjoyed.

But he needed to get back. With father recovering from illness, he’d need all the help he could get running their Bannorn. His daughter had also been fussing rather a lot at night, and his poor wife would need more help than she’d allow the nursemaids to provide. She insisted on nursing her daughter herself, but as the father, _he_ had a certain level of leeway she’d otherwise not allow. She needed the rest.

“Look after him,” Wilhelm implored, as he clasped arms with Tobias. His brothers had both come to see him off.

He knew it was foolish to worry now. Several years too late, but he couldn’t unlearn what he knew. Couldn’t stop seeing that poor young man, lying in a broken heap. Couldn’t stop thinking of that barely muttered, _‘Yes,’_ when he’d asked if Max still struggled.

Tobias smirked playfully. “Now who’s babying him?”

Wilhelm scoffed. It had been years since he’d _blushed_ unwillingly, but his cheeks felt questionably hot. 

Tobias patted his arm. “He can handle himself. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Wilhelm released Tobias and turned to Maxwell. They stared at each other, each of them at a loss.

Maxwell was the first to break it. His lips twitched. “Are we supposed to hug now?”

Wilhelm grunted. He found himself tongue tied in a way he hadn’t felt in _years._

Maxwell took his silence as displeasure, although he remained nonplussed. He smiled good-naturedly, holding up both palms. “ _Kidding._ Kidding.”

Wilhelm scoffed. Turned away. Paused. Turned back around again, with a growl. “Oh, _sod_ it.”

Then, he stormed over and embraced Maxwell. So quickly, the younger man yelped.

He was stiff for a moment or two before he relaxed, bringing his own arms up around Will's back. When they broke apart, they found Tobias watching them with a smile. Looking decidedly misty-eyed.

Wilhelm groaned. “ _Here_ we go.”

“I’m not crying _,”_ Tobias scowled. And he wasn’t. His voice was level…but his eyes were wet. “I’m just proud of you. I’m allowed to take pride in my siblings, am I not?”

“Aww,” Max's entire face _crumpled._ “… _Toby_.”

“I'm fine. Right as rain, thanks for asking.” He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “You know my hay fever is wretched this time of year.”

“I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” Max ribbed gently, though his eyes were kind.

Wilhelm snorted. “Please, he was always the soft touch. He was simply better than you at hiding it.”

Tobias sniffled. “Rather uncalled for.” He wiped his eyes as they spoke, accepting a sideways hug from Max with one hand on his arm.

Will shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”

Tobias glowered, arms crossed, eyes glistening. The sight was so pitiful, Wilhelm could only sigh.

His heart twisted. The traitorous _knave._

“Get the hell over here, both of you.” Wilhelm rolled his eyes, wrapping a sibling in each arm. “How you’ve managed to acquire the fealty of over half of Thedas without bursting into tears, I'll never know.”

“Who says we haven’t?” Maxwell quipped. “I could have stopped Corypheus at Haven that way. You don’t know. You think he has any idea what to do when a grown man cries? I’d win by default while he stood there, baffled.”

Wilhelm glared at Max. “You’re not wrong and I hate you for it.”

The three of them huddled against each other. It was strange. Not unwelcome, in any sense. Something both wholly unfamiliar, and righter than anything.

“You’ll write? When you’re home safe?” Maxwell asked as they pulled apart. “Are you sure you don’t want an escort?”

“Yes, of course. And _no,_ we’ll be fine. You worry too much,” Wilhelm griped. “ _You’ll_ write if you need me? For _anything?”_

Wilhelm knew he understood when Maxwell smiled with his eyes. “Of course.”

It was Wilhelm’s turn to smirk.

“I’ll have to bring Sandra next time. Maxine should be fine to travel when she’s a bit older.”

The Inquisitor blinked. 

Wilhelm had yet to tell either of his brothers his daughter’s name. Wanted it to be a surprise. For what, he had not known.

Until now.

Both were gratifyingly speechless.

“Did I not mention that?” Wilhelm drawled, lips tugging upward. “Sandra insisted.”

A weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying lifted when Maxwell continued to stand there, blinking. Bewildered.

Tobias didn’t try to pretend they weren’t tears this time.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this one in my head since the last part written at Trevelyan manor. I've wanted to expand upon the past and present mental illness I've all but implied in Max, and this plot bunny that had been building and building was a perfect opportunity.
> 
> I've been on both sides of this fence. And, as someone who has and does suffer from high functioning depression, and sees it in loved ones, I can tell you there are many faulty portrayals of it. My experience of course does not necessarily equate to everyone else's, but allow me to climb up on the soap box for a moment. 
> 
> Depression is not something to be pitied. It does not make people helpless, or weak. We're just people doing the best we can, still capable of many new and wonderful things. Suffering is not a contest, but neither is it a crutch. My Inquisitor does suffer from depression. He is also a damned good Inquisitor. I don't see those two things in conjunction with each other as often as I'd like. He does not let this define him. Neither do I, and neither should you. 
> 
> Anyway. Sorry. I can be ranty, I know xD. Thank you so much for reading! I'm always happy to see feedback, and as always: I love you.
> 
> \- Saber


End file.
